


Cut Your Heart Out With a Spoon

by mike_will_protect_you



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Flashbacks, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Flayn (Fire Emblem), Night Terrors, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seteth as the little spoon, Seteth is Irish, Seteth's native language is Gaelic, Spooning, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 22:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30113313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mike_will_protect_you/pseuds/mike_will_protect_you
Summary: Pushed to the limits after working endlessly for Fodlan's future, Byleth and Seteth commit the ultimate act of degeneracy: Cuddling and kissing in a bed, when they aren't yet married.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Seteth
Comments: 6
Kudos: 19





	Cut Your Heart Out With a Spoon

One of the most irritating feelings in the world is waking up in the middle of the night and being unable to fall back asleep, all for no good reason. Is it because you know tomorrow will be a particularly busy day? Are you tense and nervous, in a general sense? Was the tea you drank at dinner not actually decaf? Or is the universe just bored and felt a need to mess up your day, a little bit? Who knows? You’ll never get your answer, just like you’ll never get a good night’s sleep.

Byleth tried everything. Pillow over her head, pillows on the ground, covers, no covers, curtains closed, windows opened, nightgown taken off and put back on...but though her eyelids were heavy and her shoulders sank into the mattress, sleep just didn’t want to come to her. The bed itself was grandiose and big enough to fit four people shoulder to shoulder, and the sheets were a fine silk that came all the away from the County of Gloucester. It was a perfectly good evening...warm enough to prevent frozen limbs, cool enough that a duvet wasn’t overkill. The air was so calm that she could hear herself breathe, so there were no distractions to pester her. Aside from meetings with this duke and that lord, she couldn’t think of anything truly daunting waiting for her in the morning. She was the vessel of the drowsiest being in all existence; why was she having this problem? She had easier nights falling asleep when she only had a portable cot over the dirt, for the love of…

Putting her hands in her face, she groaned in aggravation. It had been about an hour of fruitless tossing and turning (Was it an hour? It could have easily only been five minutes). Closing her eyes and hoping for the best seemed more and more like a waste of time, and the idea of sitting here until sunrise made her want to grit her teeth. Should she just get out of bed and fill in the time with menial chores? Or was she just chasing slumber away by agonizing over how she couldn’t sleep?

The queen sat up, admitting defeat. Her plans were to just sit outside by the balcony and count the stars, a task that she didn’t find to be that much more productive, but perhaps the banality of it would bore her enough to slip back. Her nightgown was a tiny thing...thin straps that barely covered her shoulders with a skirt that reached her mid-thigh; perfect for late spring/early summer nights. She grabbed her kimono and draped it over her back, assuming the night air would be too chilly to go without it.

However, before she could approach the door to the balcony, she noticed a small flicker of light in the corner of the doorframe, followed by the faint echo of boots scraping the carpet. It couldn’t have just been a guard or gatekeeper, since, this late at night, they usually stood by the front doors and other entrances, or in the courtyard, so they could overlook the windows. The glint subtly bounced up and down through the crack under the door, at the same pace as a bubble floating in the wind, suggesting this person only had a single candlestick. Slight rustle of gold jangling against their skin, yet somewhat muffled and more inaudible than it really should be, from this distance. The stranger’s soft footsteps had an elongated space between each of them, yet kept an even, predictable beat. Hmm, whoever was out there was deliberately trying to walk slowly and silently, while within reason. And they knew they weren’t supposed to be here, at this hour.

“Oh. An assassin?” Byleth snickered as she strolled towards the door. “Great. They can end my suffering.”

Her curiosity was piqued, at least. Whoever was out there, they had balls to try and walk past the Queen’s chambers at the Witching Hour. Not like they had anything relevant to say or do while they were here, but she would humor them, at least for a little while. She didn’t have anything better to do.

The door was immense, so it took some effort to push open; the decades of use made it creaky and prone to sticking. Regardless of the obvious and delayed warning, she heard a small gasp of shock. The passerby had nearly been smacked right in the face. She heard the shuffling of boots scraping against the cobblestone floor and she heard a gentle thud to her left, indicating that her guest walked backwards into the wall. Well, if they were here to assassinate her, they weren’t doing a very good job, at all.

“Careful!” An all-too familiar voice warned. A voice she probably should have expected before anyone else. “Nearly burnt my sleeves off…”

“Seteth?” Byleth held the door open as she saw her advisor come around. He held a candlestick with his right hand, using his left to feel for any other potential hazards. Naturally, he was fully dressed, and his facial expression was as collected as ever. She yawned once she saw he wasn’t seriously injured. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were so close. Did you hurt yourself?”

“No, I did not.” Once he was properly facing her, his free hand held the base of his candlestick with his free hand, a habit he probably picked up from routinely performing candlelit ceremonies for centuries. “Did I wake you?”

“No…” She rubbed her brow, moaning to herself. The nagging flicker was starting to strain her eyes and give her a light headache. “You didn’t. I’ve been awake for awhile, now.”

A sigh fell from his lips almost instantly, as if lying awake in bed was less reasonable than never going to bed at all. In spite of his irritation, he moved his left hand over the flame, giving her enough light to see him while not outright blinding her. “It’s late. Why aren’t you asleep?”

“What do you mean?” She glowered at his tone. “You’re the one wandering the halls hours before the knights will show up. What are you doing up, so late?”

“Your Majesty, you have three speeches to give, today.” Seteth clicked his tongue. “The first will be addressed to the people of Enbarr, about the new trade deals we managed to secure to address the grain shortages that occurred after the collapse of the Adrestian Empire. The second is for the remaining nobles, who are anxious to hear our plans for a post-Crest social order. The third will be for the people who lived on the border between the Empire and the Holy Kingdom of Fearghus, most of whom still do not have adequate shelter. If you sound drowsy and blasé as you speak, you’ll give a terrible impression to the thousands of people who have been food insecure, displaced, or even homeless in the aftermath of the war. There will be whispers about how you’re not taking your role as the Queen of a United Fodlan seriously, and surely this would lead to rebellions and other disruptions we may have for the Reconstruction. I’m merely tying up any loose ends so that you can focus all of your efforts on revising the speeches we’ve prepared for you.”

A seafoam green brow raised as he droned on, and she in turn clicked her tongue. “You ignored my question. What loose ends would require you to be on the third floor of the monastery, before dawn?” As the newly coronated queen awaited his answer, she leaned against the doorway with her arms folded.

He grunted, and cleared his throat before he answered. “The gatekeeper claims that he is unable to find his copy of the rotation schedule for this week. Ergo, I’m visiting the hallway in your chambers, the last post he had during yesterday’s shift.” He spoke with a glazed tone, clearly annoyed that the man’s carelessness put more work on his already overcrowded plate; a nice garnish atop the bland, flavorless gruel.

“So…” She lifted up a finger, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed. “...you’re quite literally losing sleep because you’re looking for a piece of paper that is probably in some pigeon’s nest, by now? When he could simply request a new copy, or ask a friend?”

Her advisor lowered his head. If his hands were free, he would have crossed his arms. “No, Byleth. Not for his benefit. I hope to find it before it potentially ends up in the hands of someone meaning to do you or the monastery harm.”

The former mercenary, and former Commander of the Resistance Army, really was doing her best not to roll her eyes at his unyielding micromanaging. Instead, she pushed herself off the door frame and stood up straight, her hands sliding down to her hips. She didn’t need to say anything.

A sigh escaped from him, his shoulders slumping. He turned his head away and squeezed his eyes as tight as he could. “All right, you’ve made your point…”

Now that her eyes adjusted and she could properly see, she noticed how the flames highlighted every crease on his face, specifically the one that appeared when he felt he was at an impasse. His shadow was magnified on the wall, and she noticed that, while his ears were hidden behind his hair to her face, she could make out the pointed tips in his flickering reflection. Was she just noticing this phenomenon for the first time? Nevertheless, the sight of his ears reminded her just exactly what he was dealing with. As much as she wanted to tease him for all his caviling, she could observe genuine uneasiness on his brow. Self-inflicted anxiety caused by a chronic lack of sleep and food, no doubt, but it still came from his overwhelming desire to protect every last creature that called the monastery their home.

Her gaze softened. One hand reached over to hold onto his sleeve, gently massaging his elbow. She watched as he glanced down at her hand. While her touch did nothing to improve his exhaustion, it had at least made him stop scowling.

“Ahh, I think I have it all figured out.” A playful smirk rose on her face. She waited until his eyes met with hers before she sneered, “...you just want to get as much work done as possible with the hopes we can get married sooner. Is that it?”

Seteth’s brows raised to his forehead as his lips parted, his cheeks getting brighter. Gasping, he took a small step back from her as the blush deepened, and a reluctant smile contorted onto his face. Proud of herself, she let go of his arm, if not because she didn’t want him to drop the candle.

“What...what an ego you have, your majesty! Not everything I do is for your benefit alone, I’ll have you know!” His blush was so powerful that even his jaw was crimson, and he knew it. Byleth couldn’t help but chuckle to herself, rubbing her chin with her fingertips. Admitting defeat, her lover just groaned and half-turned away from her. Though his eyes were downcast, he was simpering.

Observing his blush, hearing his flustered gasps, and watching his dour mood slip from his face, some relief washed over her chest. The advisor was gone, and her betrothed was here.

Now that a candle wasn’t in her way, she moved to wrap her right arm around his waist, hugging him from the side. Holding him was as comforting as sitting by the fire, for he was so toasty that every bit of her felt guarded. The ache in her head retreated to her scalp and escaped by sliding down her hair. Her free hand moved to rest over his beating heart, which, unsurprisingly, was fluttering. Like a butterfly trying to fight the wind. Did she really have this much power over him? The dragon hummed, twisting his neck so that their eyes could meet. They were alone, it was okay.

“How long have you been awake?” She whispered, resting her head on his arm.

His eyelids were heavy and his smile was content, but his eyes darted towards the door before he gave his answer. “Me? Oh, well, I’ve been up since the last sunrise…”

“What? Almost a full day?” She started the pout. Taking a step back, her hand clutched his free wrist and gave it a delicate, but firm tug away from her chamber door. Seteth swallowed; she hoped he knew he was about to get a taste of his own medicine. “You need to head to bed right this very second. Let me help you to your room…”

That suggestion made his eyebrows quirk, and he let out an awkward, stifled cough. “That...won’t be necessary, my love!” He let out a nervous laugh, so brief it was almost a hiccup. “If you wish that I withdraw to my quarters, then I will certainly follow any ord-”

“-It’s no trouble for me.” Byleth cooed, standing up on tiptoe for emphasis. The advisor absolutely hated to be interrupted more than anything else, but, well, sometimes, you had to. As an apology, and as reassurance, she gave a light scratch to his beard. On a typical evening, this would help placate him when he was disquietly overwhelmed. It usually resulted in him sighing, perhaps smiling if she were lucky, and holding the back of her hand as she caressed him.

Yet tonight, she could see that he was almost wincing at her touch. His eyes hadn’t returned to meet hers and his free hand moved to rub the back of his neck. “Oh, well, my chambers are only one floor down! I don’t need to be escorted, or anything. I don’t want to keep you awake, either…”

Okay, he was reluctant to let her go to his room. Well, there were rumors that he didn’t actually have one, for he was usually in his office if he had any downtime. When she first arrived at the monastery, she heard persistent rumors that Seteth was a vampire, and if she didn’t know any better, she would wholeheartedly believe them. Perhaps he was worried about a guard catching them in this lovey-dovey embrace? Or was it...he thought she was trying to goad him into breaking his vow?

“I won’t actually go in, don’t worry.” Byleth laughed quietly, patting his chest. “I only think that a light stroll will do me good and help me fall asleep.” 

This only seemed to agitate him further. His lips were twisting enough to show his canines, and his eyes were transfixed on the doorway leading to the staircase. Surely, he didn’t think some voyeur was lurking in the corner, chuckling wickedly, ready to tell the whole world that the Queen of Fodlan and her Advisor were...holding hands! Part of her wanted to frown.

Clearing her throat, she stood up tall, her hands slipping away from his cheek, to his elbow and finally settling for his wrist. “And it’s not just that...it’s just...I want to spend a bit of time as your betrothed-”

“Oh, well,” His eyes squeezed shut, and there seemed to be a lump in his throat. He stretched out his arm, the candle flickering towards the hallway. Was he about to take his leave, or was he actually checking to make sure no one was there? Why was he just so damn shaky, this evening? “If...this is about wanting to spend time, alone-”

Byleth lifted her chin, giving him a stare that would rival the ones he liked to give. “Are you okay, Seteth, my man? It feels like you’re about to jump out that window, to get away.”

A small pop erupted from his sleeves, and she felt his muscles shift ever so slightly in her hand. It paused the disagreement between the two of them as soon as it began. When he realized, his lips were parted as he glanced down at her iron grip. Statue-like and unwavering, even the flame on his candle barely stirred. 

“...I think you fixed my trick wrist.” The advisor’s eyebrows rose as he rolled it in a circle. Based on his expression, he wasn’t sure if he should be thankful for the help, impressed by her agile abilities...or afraid of her strength.

Byleth hunched her shoulders and wore a toothy grin as she bowed her head and loosened her hold on his arm before letting go altogether, allowing it to drop back to his side. She was...really holding onto him pretty snugly, huh? Her offending hand ran through her hair and to the nape of her neck as she chuckled apologetically. So that’s why he was so quick to leave...she was tugging on him. “Uhh...well…”

Seteth ultimately laughed under his breath. He moved to place his formerly captive hand on her lower back before he leaned in and planted a kiss to the top of her forehead, right under her widow’s peak. She noticed that the candle flickered from side to side for about half a second. Maybe he was about to wrap his other hand around her back, but momentarily forgot he was still holding the candle. Interesting way to show affection, setting her hair alight…

“That’ll teach you to pester me.” She imagined his deadpan face.

She quietly giggled at the thought, putting her hands on either side of his chest as she gave a kiss to his beard. His response was to move his hand up the groove in her back to about her shoulder blade as he gave a quiet hum of content.

“You don’t want me to leave, do you?” His smile turned a little mournful.

The queen drew circles in his shirt with her pointer finger. “Don’t get me wrong, Seteth…I care deeply for the people of Fodlan, especially now that times are so harsh for them, through no fault of their own. I understand that, for many of them, their lives were better under Edelgard’s reign, and they respected the social and political change she brought.”

Seteth nodded morosely. His attitude never failed to sour when the late Empress was brought up. It was understandable, considering she actively tried to kill him and Flayn, due to their race, but he let her continue.

“And I want the people of Fodlan to know that I plan to uphold her social security policies and end the Crest system, but that my administration believes blood does not need to be shed and dissenters do not need to be imprisoned, to enable this to happen. I mean...I still don’t think I deserve to be the absolute ruler, but I pledge to bring peace and stability to this region.”

“Good.” He nodded approvingly. A little unusual, since he heard her political beliefs countless times. “I still have no doubt in my mind that you’re perfect to rule us all. Never mind your reluctance. A reluctant ruler is, more often than not, a better ruler than a fervent one.”

“Well…” She ran her fingers along his neatly trimmed beard. “If that ruler has a perfect advisor, and perhaps an even better prime minister, you’re absolutely correct…”

“Too right. Do let me know when you find a perfect advisor.” He winked.

“I shall.” Queen Byleth gave a light tap to his nose, which made them both smile widely. 

Resting her hand where his neck met shoulder, she hummed to clear her throat. The smile on her face dulled as her eyes drifted to the ornate stitching in his robes. With a small sigh, she continued, “I know how you feel about our privacy. I respect it, even prefer it. Although...we probably won’t get the chance to be romantic for quite awhile, because we’ll be even busier than we are, currently. We’ll probably only be truly alone to bathe or sleep. For months…”

Taking a peek up at him, she saw his usual heavy eyes...but a softer gaze in his cheeks and lips. His face was usually angular and somewhat harsh, even during his moments of repose. This time, rather than stern, he was...attentive. Patient.

“I guess I shouldn’t be complaining.” She shrugged. “Most folk I know can’t say that they spend every waking moment with their betrothed, or even their spouses. And yet…”

Seteth snarled to himself. Tightly closed his eyes, he grumbled, “...most of our conversations will be dry, and our demeanor will have to be professional and regal. We’ll have to act like superhumans with no personal lives or bodily limitations, at all times.”

She shook her finger in his direction as he spoke. He at least got her to smile. “Yeah, that.” His voice was so bitter that it could’ve been kudzing tea. This man clearly just wanted a nice, peaceful life where he could fish and write children’s books for all eternity, and yet, he wouldn’t ever abandon a job halfway through. Rhea knew what she was doing when she hired him.

“I’m not looking forward to it, either.” He relaxed his features as he sighed, just like the doctor told him to do. “It’s mentally and emotionally draining. I know…”

Byleth moved her hand to his cheek, stroking the side of his temple with her fingers. Like clockwork, his free hand moved to hold her wrist and caress her knuckles with his fingertips. It made her smile, if a little sadly, as they felt sorry for themselves. “You need your rest, too, Seteth, my dear companion. Let me walk you back down to your room, and we can try and enjoy our last few moments of freedom.”

“My room…” He mumbled out of the corner of his mouth. Lips twisting and eyes darting to his side, he made no attempt to take even one step closer to the end of the hall. Lowering his chin for half a second and swallowing a lump in his throat, he faced her again and spoke just a smidge louder than he really intended to, “Byleth?”

Seteth had to wince, no doubt at his awkward, gauche delivery. The sound of her name echoing through the stony halls made her jump just a bit in shock, if not because he wasn’t usually one to speak so abruptly, let alone so...hurriedly. It made her curious, and somewhat apprehensive, of what he wanted to say. She felt a pinch in her stomach and a tightness in her throat, but nonetheless, she smiled, and nodded, “Yes? Something wrong?”

Taking in a sharp breath, hoping to shrug off that misstep in stride, he spoke in a much softer voice, “What if I told you I had a better idea?” He tried to give her a reassuring smile, yet there was a shakiness in his cadence, adding to the bizarre change in attitude.

Oh, dear Goddess, he’s going to say we need to go on a ‘break’, isn’t he?

“A better idea...” She nodded, she took his hand off his cheek and folded her arms. Let’s hear it.”

“Okay...” He cleared his throat, because of course, her advisor had to make a big show whenever they were discussing their next approach. Removing his hand from her wrist, he straightened his back and rolled his shoulder. It brought back memories of the war, when they were discussing strategy and technique in the War Room, and he would spend a good fifteen minutes before the meeting was supposed to begin reviewing his notes from the previous day’s meeting, and getting himself mentally ready. At the time, she found it sweet that he addressed her as “professor” and took her advice to heart. As he did it again, it gave her a little more confidence in what his better idea was going to be, at the very least.

“I will just come out with it.” He smartly perked his chin up and once again cleared his throat. “If we both can’t sleep, and if I’m already here, perhaps I should just…stay here?”

~~

Byleth’s neck would feel a little off, ever since that night. She gasped hard enough to nearly breathe in the fire, like a proper dragon. Falling backwards, she put her hand against the doorframe before she could split her skull in two against the monastery's stoney walls. Her lover was just as quick as she was, for he wrapped his arm back around her waist and caught her before she had a chance to collapse to the floor.

“Byleth!” He gasped, biting his lip in terror as he scanned her face. “Are you alright?”

She responded, of course, by nearly screaming, “You mean, stay in my room?!”

A relieved smile returned to his face as he pulled her to her feet. “Are you thrilled? Or...mortified?”

Her face was pale, her eyes wide, and her mouth was agape. Of course, sharing a bed was probably the tamest thing in the world, for a land where travelers and paupers alike tended to share a room or even a bed without a second thought. In spite of that...this was Seteth. This man was so very protective of every minute aspect of his private life, and of their relationship, in the name of optics and the precariously delicate state of post-war Fodlan. He was so selective and particular about how and when he gave Byleth any affection that even Flayn was kept in the dark of her professor’s relationship to her father. And furthermore, considering how close-knit the Knights of Seiros were with her, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence in the slightest to have somebody wander into her room at any waking moment for just about any reason. Hell, if someone were trying to find Seteth himself, after his office, wherever Byleth may be would be the next best place to look! It was too dreamlike to hear Seteth make such a perilous decision, out of the blue. 

Her voice scratchy and breathless, she hissed, “But...your vow?”

“While I appreciate your concern for my boundaries,” He put his hand over his heart and bowed his head, his smirk growing wider. “Sothis’ word makes it quite clear: chastity until matrimony. She says nothing about simply sharing a bed.”

Byleth could feel her brain fry like an egg on a buttered pan. First, he was saying that he wanted to share her bed, and now he was admitting there were plenty of shortcuts to his religion? And that he would like to take advantage of them?

“...the guards?” Her eyes flashed to the window, hoping, for once, that they weren’t doing their jobs and weren’t looking at the lone light in the window in her corridor.

For the first time in human history, Seteth had a carefree grin on his face. Maybe Claude, Sothis rest his soul, had possessed him and figured he ought to be a wingman for this hapless idiot. It didn’t help that he gave her a breezy shrug as he mumbled, “As far as they need to know, I only came in to coach you on what you need to say, at your first public appearance. Not like they are ever allowed in your chambers first thing in the morning, to begin with.”

To see him wear a devil-may-care grin, and to see him brush off any obvious obstacles...it made her subconsciously bite the inside of her mouth (in order to...test if she was dreaming, of course). He did bring up a good point, though. They were almost certainly going to get away with this, just their little secret.

“You...really mean it?” Her lips pursed apprehensively as she turned her head to the side.

“I do.” He vowed, smiling in confidence. “You’re absolutely right. If we’re going to be overburdened and loveless for the next few months, then we should make the most of it, tonight.”

That had settled it for her. It was exactly what she had wanted to hear, and the best case scenario he could have offered. Her hands gripped onto his shoulders and she did a little jump, looking just like a puppy whose master had come home from a day’s work. Her spirited reaction made him yelp and take a small step back, lifting the candle higher. Nearly laughing out loud, she cried, “Of course you can stay!”

As he watched her unravel in his arms, his eyes glimmered; their color had begun to resemble the stems of flowers coated in the morning dew. While he was still admiring her sweet reaction, she could observe a slight wince. “Sweetheart…”

“Oh, sorry…” She let go of him, and put her hands behind her back. The grin she wore was so wide that she knew she would need to ice her cheeks, in the morning. “I’m being too loud, am I? My apologies, I’ll try to calm myself…”

“I was only going to ask if you could hold the candle.” His wrist lowered the tray so that it was about level with her collarbone. “My arm is starting to get sore.”

The queen clapped her hands in understanding, then quickly moved to hold the plate from the bottom with one hand and clasped onto the brass loop with the other. This probably should have burned her, as it had been dripping with wax for quite some time, but since her new transformation, she found she could handle almost any amount of heat for much longer than she previously could.

“Come in.” She took a few steps back into her room, though the light from the crescent moon gave him adequate lighting to navigate. His free hand grasped on his opposite shoulder as he shook and twisted his stiff wrist, trailing along.

“I could get used to seeing you like this energetic.” He admitted as he moved to close the door behind them. He would be there awhile, for even immortal dragons couldn’t win against this stubborn, ancient old thing. “I find it charming.”

Setting the candle on her nightstand, her first thought was to make sure there was absolutely nothing in this room that would potentially scare him off. Should she make the bed? What side did he like better, the one by the window, or was he more into the middle? How did he sleep, on his side? Back? Stomach? Wait, forget all that...what was he going to wear?! Because, well, surely he wasn’t going to just collapse on the bed, still fully dressed, even in the name of abstinence. She snapped her fingers in frustration. “Oh, I wish I kept my father’s shirts…”

“That’s okay.” He cooed gently (Really, it was...he’d never say this to her face, but the thought of wearing Jeralt Eisner’s shirts...wasn’t cozy). “I’ll stay in my undershirt, if you don’t mind…”

She felt herself choke on her own breath. Before he could respond, she cleared her throat. “That’s...certainly the most practical option, Seteth.”

“Glad you think so.” He smirked, but not before checking the lock, one last time. When it creaked, she heard him grunt in annoyance. At least it bought a little more time.

Trying to shake thoughts of Seteth undressing out of her mind, Byleth moved to straighten out her room divider, a wondrously large screen that was a royal blue, and trimmed with gold finishings made to resemble vines on an enchanted castle. It had five panels, and was only an inch taller than really necessary. Despite its size, it was made with a thick cloth that prevented so much as a silhouette of the one changing behind it from being visible. Come to think of it, this wasn’t here when Rhea was the archbishop...this had to be something Seteth found, just for her. Kinda poetic.

When that was done, she skipped over to the bed with the speed of a fox. Forgetting she was a royal, the new queen started to fluff up the dozen throw pillows her bed had, checking to make sure there weren’t any weird spots or holes in her sheets, and patting the bed down for lumps or loose springs. There wasn’t anything wrong at all with her sleeping arrangements, as she damn well knew, but she needed to make a good first impression. For whatever reason, she even started to straighten out the sheets and smooth down the duvet.

Once she thought she had everything settled, she heard gold delicately sliding on wood. Briskly turning around, she immediately noticed his circlet, his belt, the dangly thing he had on his hip...the ring she gave him...all placed delicately atop her bureau. Did he really get to the curtain so quickly? She didn’t even hear him. He was obscured, his dignity protected by the awning, and only his long, meticulous fingertips peeked out from behind the screen. She couldn’t help but notice that he was nudging and organizing his jewelry as though he was preparing a museum exhibit. Perhaps so that he could put them right back on, when the morning came? Ah, typical behavior for the old prig...had to be cold and calculating just to spend some quality time with his little girlfriend.

As the glee in her started to settle, her shy smile quietly trickled into a crease, and she felt her brows lowering. Being mindful of how his accessories were laid out as he left them wasn’t all that odd...Sothis forbid that a chain get tangled with something else and break as he tried to detangle it, right? And yet...the pinch in her belly from just a few minutes earlier was starting to return.

“You’re leering.” He called out just loud enough to wake her from her trance. His hand had vanished behind the twirling vines. She could hear the hushed sound of wood creaking, and leather sliding against cloth as he removed his boots. Oooh, so he preferred to sit down as he removed his shoes.

Blinking, she shook her head just until it felt clear, trying to let out a nervous, indignant laugh. “Am not! I can’t even see you behind that curtain, I’ll have you know.”

“Yes, well, how would you know you couldn’t see me, unless you were rubbernecking?” His voice was matter-of-fact and languid, and she could hear his boots settle on the floor as he set them down. “You are absolutely incorrigible.”

She let out a chortle, turning around in shame. Despite the uncomfortable achiness growing in her stomach, hearing his familiar, chiding voice made her feel just a little better. Like drinking a spot of ginger tea. It had to just be nerves, right? She opted to climb into her freshly made bed, assuming that having a lie down was all she needed to do.

“Byleth?” He called out again, this time pressing his hand into the silky robes to prevent them from wrinkling.

“I’m not gawking!” She whined with a giggle, and she rustled the sheets to prove she was busy.

“Good.” The click of the coat hanger wrapping around the handle. “I have a favor to ask...could you please face the opposite wall, and not look until I let you know I’m ready?”

Cocking her head, her eyes glancing in the direction of his voice. “I mean...sure, but...you know I’ll still see you in your britches one way or another, right?”

“Yes, I’m aware.” Trousers slid to the ground as she shimmied out of them. “But this is supposed to be a chaste event. If you were to watch me walk to your bed in nothing but a single layer to protect me, then the situation would look a mite steamier than I would like to convey to the Goddess, should she be watching. As a man of the cloth, it is my responsibility to ensure that I do not fall to temptation, nor do I do anything that might lead you down that path.”

She crossed her arms and raised a brow, giving a small smirk. The Goddess watching, eh? Yeah, about that, Seteth, honey... “You probably know something I don’t, in this case. I suppose it’s for the best that I never became Archbishop, because when I read that passage, I assumed the spirit of that rule was that you shouldn’t be fooling around with other people, if you’re courting somebody else-”

“Oh, no doubt that’s what it really means.” He spoke so quickly that he left no pause after she finished her reply. The prim accent was gone, and his tone was blunt. For a moment, he almost sounded...common? Was she finally starting to break him? “Let me put it to you this way: ever since I began following Sothis’ teachings to a tee, my terrible luck has turned. I’m not rocking the boat.”

It made her chuckle to herself. “Fair enough, babe.” Byleth fully turned her body so that she was facing the opposite side of the room. Mistranslation or not, she would adhere to his religion solely to make accommodations for him, and nothing more.

Their conversation ended, reminding her that the offbeat feeling in her belly and ribs never quite went away. Nerves, just nerves, right? 

Placing a hand on her middle and shaking her head, she distracted herself by focusing all her attention on him. It wasn’t a way to covertly think of oh-so unholy thoughts about her fiancé, no sir. Rather, she just wanted to admire the way he expertly handled his articles of clothing, undressing so carefully it was as if everything he owned was actually a loan. It was delightfully cute. Smirking, she absentmindedly drew circles in the sheets. She loved people watching. It was intriguing, to observe others while they did mundane tasks, and noticing the insignificant quirks and rituals the subject created subconsciously. It was a bad habit she had picked up from growing up as a mercenary. Lots of her clients requested people who were trying to assume a new identity to try and outrun their past, so she had to be diligent. A generous Adrestian gentleman buying three rounds for him and his new friends, yet held up his pointer, middle, and ring fingers to signify the number ‘three’? Oh, you poor Leicester bastard. As a result, that’s also how she picked up social skills in her formative years. And she wondered why people thought her unapproachable.

Seteth was no exception. He was certainly much slower in his disrobing than he really needed to be. She thought he heard him repeat the process of patting down and sliding his fingers down the silky threads quite a couple times, and far more than he could realistically do to prevent creases. Hmm, unless dragons could force their hands to start steaming if they needed an iron in a pinch, he must have been buying time. He’s nervous, too.

With little warning, her stomach started to churn hard enough to make her bend her knees. Her ribs started to press against her lungs as the blood that ran through her veins started to feel like they were struck by hail. Frowning, she knew exactly where this was headed: ever since the war ended, the professor would get these strange episodes where her body paralyzed and locked her into place at the slightest bit of trouble. It muffled her ability to hear and made it feel like an enormous child was shaking her spine like a rattle. They were terrifying in the heat of the moment, but all in all, they were just annoying. She had things to do and people to see, damn it!

Hoping to placate the stirrings, she took in a deep breath, and was greeted by a slight sting once her lungs expanded far enough. In one final attempt, she squeezed her eyes as tight as she could for a few beats, then relaxed the muscles. To prevent Seteth from overhearing and wondering what she was doing, she mouthed to herself, “ _My name is Byleth Eisner, I’m twenty-six years old, apparently, and my parents are Jeralt and Sitri. I was born on the twentieth of the Horsebow Moon. I can eat eight meals in one sitting and drink an army under the table. I like cats, and gardening. I’m safe in my bed. Nothing can hurt my friends and loved ones, when I’m around."_

Thankfully, she managed to ward the spell away, and the overgrown, invisible child released her ribs and spine. Triumphantly, she threw her fist in the air. “ _Ha ha, no you don’t. You’re not ruining this for me, whoever you are. Solon? Kronya?_ ” It couldn’t be Sothis, right? While she knew Sothis was observing the situation and probably not happy about having to, technically, be a part of it, (man, how could the religious tolerate such a creepy dynamic?) she couldn’t recall any other time Byleth committed a so-called sin, and the ageless girl in the throne room had this strong of a reaction. With a chuckle under her breath, she wondered if she should clarify with the Goddess living inside her: _do we have to recite culty nonsense under a canopy, first, or is it all right with You if Seteth turns my nightgown into confetti, tonight?_

The vessel to the progenitor god suddenly felt both of her earlobes twist. Twice over. Exactly like how an older sibling would retaliate against their pesky younger sibling. Now that was Sothis. Hmm, was She angry with the suggestion of fornication, or was it because she asked Her, at all? The scolding made Byleth smile just a teensey bit as she reached up to hold her sore little ears. “ _Yes, my Lady. I’m a stupid child, I know. Please forgive me for my sins._ ”

~~

The divider pulled back. Rather than merely pushing it away and allowing it to scuff the carpet, it had been lifted from the ground, and gently set back down. Sparks danced on her nerves washed over her body like a baptism, and she was fixed to her position. While her heart remained still, her wrists, ankles, and throat started to throb, the closest she could ever get to a racing heart.

His footsteps were delicate, like he expected her to have already fallen asleep. She wasn’t used to hearing him walk without hearing his large, billowy cape and his elaborate ornaments. The duvet was languidly peeled away from the edge of the bed, though she remained completely covered as he tugged on the opposite corner. The mattress dipped and easily gave in to his weight as he sat down to about level to her waist. She felt his body heat radiate like a hearth against her spine as he gingerly maneuvered his legs onto the mattress. Somehow, despite the age of the bed and his towering build, he managed to get settled without making the springs squeak or the bed frame purr. She merely heard the crackle of her covers as he placidly pulled them over his body until they were returned to his side (his side!) of the bed. His whole performance of joining her and laying by her side felt like a ballet routine she could hold in her hands. She brushed her hair out her face, her first and last attempt to primp herself. Though she yearned to greet him the moment he approached the bed, she did not move.

He propped himself up on his elbow with his right arm, not quite settled in to sleep, just yet. A tiny whisper of metal scraping against wood as he picked up the candle snuffer.

“I’m ready. You can face me.” He murmured. The air was so crisp that his voice was the only sound on Earth. How long had she been waiting for him to say that? A thousand years? Curiously, and making sure she wouldn’t roll over his arm, she turned to see him.

His undershirt was loose enough to still be practical to wear to bed, yet it didn’t do too much to hide his form. Unsurprisingly, he had broad, strapping shoulders and heavy arms. A wide chest, tight against his heart. There were coy promises of hardy abdominal muscles. None of this was apparent under his robes, which deceived the viewer into dismissing him as lanky and underfed. Byleth knew better. Nobody could handle the mighty weight of all the armor he wore into battle, adeptly soar in the air on a two-legged beast, and slay four or five men back to back, without being in impeccable shape. A secret she figured out before he was ready to tell her. He was absolutely stunning, she would not deny...but her sights only gave a passing glance to his physique. 

His circlet kept his hair exactly as he wanted it: out of his face, hiding his ears. Now that it was resting on her dresser, his dark green hair was free to graze against his jaw and chin. The pointed tip of his ears, while still using his hair like a security blanket, were coyly peeking out from safety. This wasn’t her first time that she got to see them, but it was her first time getting to really drink in their presence. She imagined them whispering, “ _Oh, hello. Is deas bualadh leat. You must be the nice lady Cichol gushes so much about._ ”

Eventually, a lock of his hair drifted too far down his face, rubbing against his eye and blocking his view of the flame. His response was to slowly lift his chin in the air and lightly shake his jaw until the offending hair was back at his temple. A small sigh slipped from his throat. Unbeknownst to him, the candlelight brightened his face and gave him a small halo around his hair, just like in the paintings of old. That expression, and those subtle movements? That was what was truly gorgeous. Sitting up, she rested her elbow on her knee, and her chin on her fist as she watched him.

He looked at her in the corner of his eye, his nose pointing straight ahead, if not marginally leaning towards the candle. Caught ‘miring, yet again.

“You seem to be in awe…” The corners of his mouth upticked. To her delight, his ‘advisor’ voice was dropped in favor of the more natural-sounding lilt. “What could you possibly be looking at?”

Warily, her fingers on her left hand floated to his cheek, using the same caution as allowing a cat unfamiliar with her to sniff her hand before she attempted to pet it. When he didn’t flinch, she used it as an opportunity to draw a line on his cheekbone and pull his straying hair behind his ear. His head bowed and his shoulders twitched, while his nose crinkled and his smile grew just a hair wider. Sliding her fingers down his hair, she started to wrap his locks around her finger. When she saw his fully uncovered ear, she noticed he was wearing tiny, golden studs with a jet black harp painted on, and they shimmered in the glow of the flame. Her man looked absolutely regal.

Her pulse skipping the more she looked, she hummed, “It’s the strangest thing...I think I just watched a mighty dragon stretch his neck before he lays down in his nest. Surrounded by his library’s worth of age-old fables, his timeworn, well-loved fishing poles...and his little hatchling curled up at his side.”

As she touched his hair, she noticed a coarseness that wasn’t usually present. A few knots and tangles could be detected, and it felt heavier. Come to think of it, it was a shade darker, as well. Her first thought was that he just typically washed his locks in the morning, but, despite the beautiful, agreeable weather Garreg Mag enjoyed this past week, she thought his hair was reminiscent of walking outside during a windy, misty day. Simply neglecting to wash wouldn’t leave it like this. The only other explanation she could think of was exertion...this damn fool just didn’t know when to take a break.

“You...certainly have a way with words.” He murmured, a light blush dusting his cheekbones as she withdrew her hand, placing it back on her lap. “You will have no trouble delivering your addresses, tomorrow morning.” Twisting his back, he opted to use his right hand to cull the flame, as he was getting nowhere with his left. Of course, his prior comment made her roll her eyes with a shake of her head.

_Oh, how typical of him...thinking about work and duties even when he’s in my bed and I’m whispering sweet nothings._

_Right. Good thing you don’t have any annoying habits, such as needlessly psychoanalyzing everybody you know, when they do anything remotely out of the norm..._

_...shut up!_

The light was extinguished, and the smoke from the candle danced in the air as it joined the heavens. Its pleasantly subtle scent covered the two of them as they got settled in. A nice touch to this already cozy moment.

__

“I’ll be the princess.” Byleth snickered as she pulled the covers over her shoulders and nestled against her goosefeather down pillow. “Er, the queen, I suppose. The queen who guards the dragons’ den, to protect them from cruel knights attempting to slay them.”

__

“Heh,” Seteth chortled as he pushed himself down and rolled over to face her. “A spin on the old tropes. I like it.”

__

She barely had any patience to wait until he properly settled in. Once he laid still for more than a moment, the dragon-protecting queen threw her arms around his ribs and nuzzled his collarbone with the same amount of energy as a horse initiating play. She heard him gasp in surprise as she captured him, which made her smile gleefully against his sternum. Her arms firmly wrapped around his back, her wrists crossing over each other as her hands rested on his shoulder blades. He was secure in her arms, barely given enough room to squirm. Oh, he was going to have a grand time trying to make his leave, in the morning...

__

Her position allowed him to rest his chin on the part in her hair with ease. His right arm wrapped around her ribcage, but, in the name of chastity, his fist rested on the nape of her neck; his entire wrist well above the covers. With his free hand, he moved to brush some stray locks of hair out of her face, and behind her pointy ears.

__

Byleth noticed how Seteth didn’t need to hunch his shoulders in order to rest comfortably, nor did he have to strain his neck. She didn’t have to move her head, or scoot down. No awkward dance routines about where to put their arms, no accidental yanking or crushing of limbs, and no boundaries unintentionally crossed. This was their first time cuddling while laying down, and yet they managed to get in perfect sync without saying a word...the realization made her feel like her heart was actually beating.

__

With a small smirk, Byleth thought that, perhaps, her previous anxiety could be explained as mere overthinking. Old habits from her mercenary days surely died hard. Maybe she was turning into him, in the sense that she never wanted to go through with a plan unless every insignificant detail was agreed upon and unspoken rules were outlined.

__

Sighing, she nuzzled into his shirt, trying to savor this fleeting moment before she fell asleep…

__

...but she was jostled awake by the smell of pine. Pine and lye. Exactly like the smell of soap that Flayn had gotten him for St. Cichol’s Day.

__

He smelled way too nice for a guy who claimed he was hunched over his desk with paperwork for almost two sunrises in a row. The smell of his soap was crisp, and his skin was smooth to the touch. There was a certain clamminess to his arms in particular, a sensation one could only achieve after rubbing down with a damp, sudsy towel. Did he shower in the evenings? If he did shower, then...why was his hair so rough? Why on Earth would he bathe every other part of his body, yet skip even so much as wetting his hair?

__

_Ugh, again with the psychoanalyzing,_ she chastised herself. _All right, he doesn’t stink. Who cares? Just go to sle-_

__

...but, furthermore, his undershirt was stiff, and cooler than the rest of his body. It didn’t cling to his form the way fabric should after prolonged usage. She couldn’t detect the tiniest bit of sweat on his limbs, let alone his clothes. No way had he spent more than ten minutes in this set of undergarments...they had to be taken from his drawers, recently. Ergo, he had to have, at some point, gone to his room, in order to change. And, therefore, actively ignored his bed altogether. Strange.

__

It could be...despite all the work he still wanted to get done, he still recognized that he needed a wash, and did so with a soapy rag, because he would not allow himself to walk around in robes that were drenched in his own sweat. She should be grateful he was at least self-aware.

__

But...what if he actively planned to be in her bed, tonight?

__

No, that couldn’t be. This had to be spur-of-the-moment. Sure, he almost never did spur-of-the-moment things, but if this rendezvous wasn’t planned, why didn’t he approach her before she hit the sack? Why would he waltz in her chambers in the middle of the night and hope she would still be awake enough to even understand him? After all, it wasn’t like him at all to bluff about petty details, and he was even less likely to lie about his intentions...just like it wasn’t like him to take gigantic risks.

__

Hm...perhaps the real Seteth was bound and gagged in his office, and this honeypot in her arms was anticipating the perfect moment to stab her in the abdomen. Should she pat him down for knives? _Oh, that’s not funny, Eisner. What’s wrong with you?!_

__

Byleth found herself slowly creaking open her eyes. Half of her just wanted to drop this matter and just enjoy his tender embrace, knowing it’d be over before she knew it. Despite her wishes, the growing concern remained lingering in her blood, and she had a voice chirping in her ear...Seteth’s? Or maybe Sothis’? It was foreseeing that there was far more to this enigma to uncover.

__

As she mulled over the bizarre evidence in her head, she realized that he had not stopped stroking her hair. His fingertips would graze her scalp, giving her delicate scratches, just like how he would scratch the ears of any curious kittens while he was waiting for fish to take the bait. Occasionally, he would gather a lock of her hair in his hand and let it cascade through his fingers, allowing it to fall back to her shoulders, and resume his caresses. Stealthily, and without moving her head, she glanced at him. 

__

His face...was haggard. Nearly gaunt. He had dark circles, and his lips were in a slight pout. She certainly knew he was overworked when she first opened the door, but now, he looked all of that, and...despondent. This definitely seemed more like the face of a man who had lived for a thousand years in isolation, and far away from sunlight. His eyes were open as he watched his hand skating in her hair, yet one eye was twitching. He seemed to be wincing. Perhaps his head hurt, but only on one side of his face. It made Byleth remember when dear little Flayn was missing for the entirety of the Horsebow Moon, and he was so upset with worry that he barely ate, slept, or spoke for that whole month. Oddly, she was reminded of the last time she had a migraine like that. It was after her father was murdered, and she spent most of her nights...sobbing…

__

It didn’t take long for him to notice he was being observed. In fact, his facial expression seemed to lighten up a split second before he cast his eyes downward to meet hers. His eyes were both fully open while retaining their typical almond shape, and color returned to his cheeks. 

__

She only had a couple seconds to look, but...it was all she needed. It was burned into her memory, permanently. Worries of her own started to grow in her stomach. She knew he would almost always have some of his thoughts hidden from her, but now she knew something was amiss...and he didn’t want her to see.

__

“I’m sorry. Am I keeping you awake?” Seteth asked as he put his hand firmly on the side of her face. His voice was above a whisper, and calm. Once again, he was resuming his duties to protect her and make sure she was comfortable.

__

She pulled herself away from his chest and sat up to face him properly. In turn, he raised one brow, looking down at her curiously, and anxious to hear her reply. His gaze soothed her racing thoughts for a moment, for she had a soft spot for this particular expression; she thought it was the most adorable look he could make, though she knew calling him “adorable” in any circumstance was enough to get him to sulk. 

__

She thought about the odd congruence with his immaculate skin, yet knotted hair. Smiling, one hand moved to thread her fingers against his scalp, under the guise that she was merely caressing him.

__

Yep. Still tangled. While his tresses weren’t oily in an unkempt, unclean way, she certainly felt residue of sweat against his scalp. Little memories echoed in her mind to moments where she had to brush her hair after a prolonged battle. Getting hair that felt like a lion’s mane could really only be achieved through exertion, grit, and fearing the slightest mistake would leave weak points unguarded. Pure sweat, and nimble movements. The results came after the endeavor, after one feeling hollow, even if they ultimately ended up the victor. Throughout the course of her life, Byleth Eisner, the Ashen Demon, probably spent more time spilling blood than sleeping. Even so, she knew that memories of battles alone could be enough to awaken hyperarousal.

__

She knew deep down she had solved this mystery, and yet, she wanted to check one last thing. Perhaps out of denial, not wanting her theory to be correct.

__

“Well…” She cooed, giving him light scratches. Hopefully, her movements would also massage his aching head. “...in a way, you are. I don’t want to fall asleep.”

__

A small chuckle came from the royal advisor’s throat as he gave her a slightly exasperated smile. He shook his head, tutting. “Well, that won’t do. You need your rest. If I’m distracting you from completing this task, then I’ll have to remove myself from your bed.”

__

With a yelp, she grabbed his shoulders, and moaned, as quietly as she could, “Noooo! Stayyyy!”

__

He pretended to scoff at her childishness, rolling his eyes just a bit, though his smile never waned. Ultimately, he threw his head back in acquiescence and sighed, “Oh, all right…”

__

Satisfied with her win, she wrapped his arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him on the cheek. And her playfulness immediately evaporated.

__

She smelled his soap. She tasted his soap. But...she mostly tasted...a saltiness. Tears.

__

Pooling together all the evidence in her mind, she knew she had the story. Seteth had a flashback, or perhaps even a nightmare. One that was so powerful and so bloodcurdling that it got him sobbing in horror. Once the memory plaguing him grew weak, he was sweating so profusely that he had to strip out of his nightshirt and clean himself with a towel in a desperate attempt to regain enough composure to fall back asleep. Instead, he chose to get dressed. And...to come to her room, possibly with stray tears streaming down his cheeks.

__

Did he...come to her to be comforted?

__

Byleth had to be lingering, for she felt Seteth pulling away. He gave her a small smile, put his hands on either side of her face, just like he did when he first proposed marriage to her. Before she could ask for his thoughts, he brought his lips to hers. She felt his fingers curl and his thumbs stroking her cheekbones.

__

While her blood was boiling and her ribs felt hollow, she melted into his embrace and yielded to his lips. Her hands clutched his broad shoulders, she felt some tension from his muscles slip away from under her fingers as the kiss went on. A slight whimper escaped from his chest, and her body in turn shivered against his form. Boldly, as though he refused to be outshined, his tongue flickered the walls of her mouth. It made her gasp, and she felt him smirking on her lips. That was his revenge for practically headbutting him, earlier.

__

After a few beats, he pulled back from her, their eyes meeting. His smile was so wide that his teeth were showing. His hands remained wrapped around her face, he pressed his forehead to hers and closed his eyes. The dark circles seemed to have disappeared. Hell, the creases in his face seemed to have faded temporarily, as he looked much younger. If she didn’t know any better, she would even say his eyes were getting dewy. It was certainly the calmest she had even seen him, and nearly the happiest.

__

For a moment, she had forgotten all about the deep sorrow she had for him...the horror he underwent had to be so brutal and heartless if he was willing to break one of his hardest rules in hopes of getting relief from it. Did he usually suffer from these bouts? Was this episode a one-time thing? Or was it just that this particular night was so horrific for him that he knew he couldn’t bear to go through it alone for a second longer? Closing her eyes, she tried not to cry bitter tears as the mental image of her lover sobbing in abject terror. Not just for one night, but for almost a thousand years. Damn, how long is a thousand years, anyway? Only now, with her, Cichol finally had some respite...

__

Her greatest wish was that he, as well as Flayn, could finally be happy and feel secure. But how could that happen, if even his own psyche yearned to prevent him from achieving anything close to peace? Even after they eventually got married, and even if they were given permission to be as affectionate as much as they liked...she would be unable to take away much of the pain he held in his soul.

__

“Seteth?” Byleth whispered, and for once in her life, she was grateful that she couldn’t convey her emotions in her facial expression and tone.

__

“Hmm?” He almost cooed back. His eyes stayed closed and his smile was growing so serene…

__

“Do you…” She squeezed his shoulders, unintentionally, as she watched the heartache drip from his face. Some part of her wondered if asking him anything was worth the trouble it would undoubtedly stir...he probably was already half asleep. Half asleep, warm, safe, calm...there was a strong craving in her to gather him all up and hold him close to her chest. She wanted to stroke his hair and tell him that night terrors are normal, and anybody who went through Hell, like he did, would get them. That they were nothing to be ashamed of. Not at all a reflection of character, or constitution. She didn't think less of him. _She_ got them, too. More importantly, she wanted to chase any cruel and unforgiving ghosts from the past still itching to torment him. She imagined him grinning in relief and embracing her, never intending to let go...hell...if such a declaration would just make him weep, she at least wanted to be the one to console him.

__

...but her throat was dry. The longer she looked at him, the more her throat constricted. Needles jabbed her pores. Her nerves started to split like a rope expected to hold too much weight. This horrible feeling, almost as if she told a damn lie right to his face, made everything she wanted to tell him evaporate on her tongue. A sense of doom pierced into her sternum, giving her a feeling so immensely heavy she felt like her bones were cracking at the seams. It could’ve been a second wave of her spells...or it could’ve been Sothis. A desperate attempt to warn her.

To _drop it_.

Hoping he hadn’t yet noticed, she swallowed, despite the dustiness inside her mouth. A lump in her throat scratched against her flesh as she tried to compose herself before Seteth noticed anything amiss. Closing her eyes, she imagined her confession as words floating in her mouth, and with each nervous gulp, they disappeared into her belly, never to be seen again. To her reprieve, the pins in her body promptly retreated. Her muscles relaxed. She could breathe. The goddess dwelling in her heart must’ve taken the hint.

Clearing her throat, she smiled at how Seteth’s expression hadn’t changed at all. He was completely unaware of her brief inner torment. His secret was secure. And yet...how could she just ignore it?

As soon as she asked herself, the pins and needles came back. And now she could feel a ghost gripping her forearm and preparing to twist it until it broke. Heavens above, Sothis could be a hell of a negotiator, when She wanted to be. Grunting in the mild pain it brought her, Byleth knew she had to reach a compromise...

“Would you like to be the little spoon?”

~~

“Little…” He cracked his eyes open, one brow raised as he looked at her. Small chuckles were peppered in as he spoke. “...spoon? What, like in that nursery rhyme? Oh, you must be falling asleep, my love…”

She had to giggle, squirming in the sheets to prove she was fully awake. “Don’t tell me you don’t know what spooning is!”

“Can’t say I do.” He put his right elbow on his pillow so he could rest his head in the crook of his arm. “Can you enlighten me, my sweet?”

Oh, dear. An emotionless killing machine was going to teach a sexually repressed church boy what spooning was...this was going to be quite interesting.

“Well, in order to be the little spoon, you’ll need to turn away from me,” She explained, drawing her hands back to her chest and freeing him.

“Turn away?” A brow raised. “Completely?”

“Exactly.” She nodded.

“So, my back is turned to you…”

“Correct.”

“...and I can’t see what you’re doing.” His calm smirk was slowly turning into a nervous smile as he gulped. “This seems like...what’s the right word...you’re about to trick me into putting myself in a compromising position.”

She was a little bemused. “You mean...a prank?”

“Yes, that’s the one.” He nodded, pointing at her with his free hand as she said it.

“Aww,” The professor chuckled. Memories of her dear little students’ hijinks towards Rhea’s hapless aide came rushing back...misleading him into repeating vulgar slang, loudly asking “Flayn” how her first date with Claude, Sylvain, Lindhardt, or Hubert went, decorating his office in paper chains and lace...and, most memorably, a persistent rumor that he and Flayn had gotten themselves trapped in a children’s playground while waiting for quickly prepared meals, like the kind served at carnivals. There were plenty of odd and esoteric rules laid out in the student and teachers’ handbook, and she wondered if they were written in the blood of Seteth’s dignity.

Reaching out to touch the side of his face, she caressed his cheekbone with her thumb, much like how he had just done to her. With a shake of her head, she cooed, “No, my love. I wouldn’t do that to you. I know you dislike tricks, to begin with.”

Throughout the night, she found herself either copying him, or doing her usual schtick of touching his face...was she just uncreative in her romantic gestures, or did she assume that the little touches he does to her were things he would enjoy? Seteth held her wrist, giving a peck to her palm, and sighed. A faint blush was present on his cheeks at her promise. “Thank you...truly.”

Taking in a deep breath, he pushed himself up, twisting his body away from her own. He probably could have just rolled over, but he had to follow her directions to the very letter, after all. Once he laid back down and settled on the pillow, she scooted to close the gap between them. “There we go,” Byleth purred, putting her hand on his hip as her knees pressed up against his own. For whatever reason, this made Seteth gasp for about half a second, and she could see from his ears that he was blushing, for the upteenth time. He tried to be still for her, but she could feel him scrunching up at all her subtle movements as she nestled up to him. Was he shy, and unused to being the one receiving the most affection? Or...perhaps ticklish? She was amused, and quite intrigued, by the idea, but she decided that she preferred all of her blood inside her own body (Maybe another time, though…).

“Lift your arm up? I’m going to wrap my arms around your chest...like, around your diaphragm, yeah? That’s it...that’s it…” She ended up being able to press her forehead on the ends of his hair, which allowed her easy access to his shoulders, collarbone, and neck.

“And...this is spooning.” The queen chuckled, her temple settling on his broad shoulder blade. She had her arms wrapped around him, her hands clasped (chastely!) over his chest. “Do you like this?”

He gave her a short nod, moving up to stroke the back of her hand with his fingertips. “Ah, yes...I know what this is…”

“Oh, yeah?” Her head felt listless. He fit in her arms perfectly, and his shoulder blade blocked out any light that would hit her eye. In spite of the mournful reason for it, she also loved the smell of his soap, and how refreshingly cool his skin was. His heartbeat thumped against her own chest, making her feel for the first time in her life that she had a beating heart.

“We just called it ‘holding from behind’, you see.” His voice was quieter, and growing more detached from the conversation, though unquestionably a purr. Surely, sleep would come to him any minute, now.

“Ah. Because they didn’t have spoons, back then.” She smirked.

A grunt rumbled against his palate, and she could _feel_ the one thousand-year-old dragon roll his eyes. “While I did walk right into that one...you promised me no tricks.”

“I did.” She agreed. To apologize for her wisecrack, she kissed where his neck met shoulder. It seemed to have worked, for his hand squeezed hers as she did it.

“...you are forgiven.” He cleared his throat, drumming his fingers on her wrist. “Yes, we did have spoons. Eating utensils likely predate writing, I’ll have you know. It’s just that, we simply called things as they were, and did not feel a need to give them cutesy, irrelevant names.”

“Irrelevant?” An eyebrow quirked on her face.

“Yes. I fail to see why you would call this act ‘little spoon’.” Fodlan’s royal advisor started to come back as he voiced his bemusement.

Byleth bit her tongue to stop herself from chortling. She thought she was out of touch, but he was on a whole different level...and he didn’t even have the excuse of having no real contact with young people, in recent years. “First of all, we’re not doing the ‘little spoon’. We’re spooning. It’s called that because we look like two spoons in a drawer. You’re the little spoon, and I’m the big spoon.”

“Ah. I see.” He gave a curt nod. “So...why am I the ‘little spoon’, so to speak?”

“Because I want to hold you.”

“No, no, I get that. It’s just...why is my position called the little spoon? I’m taller than you, no? Aren’t I always going to be the...big spoon?”

Byleth was prepared for him to ask why she wanted to cuddle him in this specific way. She was prepared for him to ask about the efficacy and practical aspects of this pose if they were planning to get a good night’s sleep. She wasn’t prepared for... _that_. She lifted her head in order to face him, her eyebrows raised and her lip quivering. The shift made him crane his head, and once he saw her face, he instantly started to smirk.

“...what?” Seteth groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose in embarrassment. “I’m...I’m earnestly confused!” 

She said nothing. She had no answer for him. A blush spread over her face as she tried to process his inquiry.

“I...I’m sorry, love, but I’m hopelessly lost trying to understand your spoon metaphor!” He pleaded, and soon found himself chuckling. He slowly turned away from her, hiding his eyes behind his knuckles.

“It’s...because...in the drawer…” Her attempt to address the confusion was cut off with her own stammers and giggles. “Little spoons...are put in front of...the…”

That didn’t help. His knees bent towards his middle as he clutched his face in his hands. A few grunts and stammers slipped out, and despite his very best efforts to keep himself composed, he began to laugh. Gently, at first, and so subtle that they could almost be mistaken for mere snickers. Just as she thought he was going to say something, he laughed a little longer, and a little louder. He was absolutely gasping for air. While her grip on his middle never wavered, she sat there, completely motionless, as she watched her love writhe in her arms.

“I...need sleep, clearly.” His words were shaky, and she swore he wiped his eyes as he lifted his head. “I cannot for the life of me realize what you're trying to tell me.”

He resettled in her arms, chuckles continuing to escape from his lips as he got comfortable. His knees went back over her own as his slender fingers clasped over hers. “You and your little spoons...oh, you'll kill me.”

If he turned to face her, he’d see that the former mercenary was wearing a big, stupid grin. She felt a small pop bursting from the top of her brain, like a sack of grain bursting at the seams, and felt a tingling warmth cascade through her bloodstream and all the way down to her toes. Just when she thought she had Seteth all figured out...he let her see a glimpse of himself that shattered any preconceived notions she had. And she fell in love with him all over again. 

Wordlessly, she tightened her embrace around him, and she was glad her heart didn’t beat, for he surely would have heard it pound in her ears. She couldn’t help but sniffle as she returned to his shoulder.

“I...adore you, Cichol.” Byleth hissed as she tried to steady the hitch in her breathing. To her delight, she heard him hum, at the sound of his true name.

“And I loved you long before I was in love with you.” Seteth whispered back. He cradled her hand and kissed the knuckles, moving it to rest on his beating heart. “Try and get some rest, _macushla._ ”

Her eyes finally started to close, and she nuzzled her face in his shoulder blade until her vision was pitch black. In just a few hours, they would resume being the Queen of United Fodlan and His Most Holy Royal Advisor. She knew he was right, and she needed to rest up as much as possible. For now, she just wanted to be Seteth’s one and only.

She wouldn’t tell him what she knew, physical threats from the goddess notwithstanding. It was more than just a matter of pride for the Heir of Purpose...he needed others to feel safe around him. And how on earth would anyone feel protected by him...if they knew he needed protection? He would be mortified if she pried into this matter, and most likely would be reluctant to ever try to seek her comfort. His reasoning was no doubt flawed and rooted more in trauma than in facts, but, reluctantly, she accepted it. 

Besides, she had been told in the past that her tendency to study body language and previously established behaviors on her peers and compatriots was unnerving. Her father called it being perceptive, but whoever called her out on it described it as “armchair detective work”. She, naturally, resented that description, for it wasn’t exactly “armchair” if she was a kind of detective, by trade. Honestly, people who don’t know what they’re talking about should just...

...wait a minute...that was _Seteth_ who told her that! It had been long ago, before the war, back when he didn’t trust a single soul other than Rhea or Flayn. This was shortly after Byleth (correctly) assumed Flayn enjoyed forget-me-nots when she walked past her room and got a whiff of them from the hallway. At the time, her class was having their daily lesson out in the garden, in order to enjoy the absolutely perfect weather. They were all minding their own business, and then, BAM! right in the middle of her lecture, Seteth snuck up from behind and gave her a piece of his mind. In hindsight, he was a father and teacher, and would naturally want to stamp out not just threats to his daughter, but suspicious behavior from staff, in general. But, the way he marched right up to her and chastised her for this incident the very second he laid eyes on her...especially since poor Flayn was sinking into her seat with a book over her head as she watched her “big brother” make a scene...the memory made her want to giggle. If she remembered correctly, he abruptly abandoned an exchange with Hanneman and Maneula, to boot! Left the conversation as if they never existed. Her students and colleagues must have thought she was going to die by his hand, then and there. Good times, good times.

If only the man she knew seven years ago could see them now. Byleth found it just a little ironic that he was more willing to share his thoughts back when he didn’t trust her. The realization wounded her, but she knew he would just have to heal in his own time, and at his own pace. She was just grateful that tonight, he reached out to her. Maybe even...proud of him…

Drunk from the echoes of his laughter, and cozy against his form, she drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I'm submitting a dissertation or something Jesus above this is long.
> 
> I'd actually like to thank Fire Emblem for reawakening this spark in me to write after a brutal and miserable pandemic and joblessness really killed my desire to do anything. This document is 26 pages on Google Docs, and I haven't written anything that long in one sitting since I was 14. I'm pretty proud of this work and I hope you like it.
> 
> Tune in for Part 2, where I ruin Seteth's life, lol.
> 
> What, you thought I was done?
> 
> (By the way the Gaelic in here might be shoddy because I don't actually speak it so if you're Irish and you want to correct me go ahead. He's supposed to be saying 'pleased to meet you')


End file.
